BUMP!
Fraser Island. Queensland. October 2004
As a red blooded American (albeit city-bred Mamma's
Boy) Male, I like trucks. I like driving off the pavement and bouncing around
off-road in 4x4 mode on big rough tires. I like splashing through puddles after
the rain and coming home covered in mud like a badge of courage. It's just fun.
It's mostly a guy thing, I think. But there are a some women who enjoy it as
well, even if they are content to simply come along for the ride.
I'm also a terrible back seat driver. And whenever
I find myself in a vehicle of almost any sort, I am much happier behind the
wheel, in control -- or even out of control, but by my own methods -- rather
then being a passenger.
So when I got to Hervey Bay, I was not about
to pass up the opportunity to embark on the "3-day/2-night self-drive 4x4
camping safari" of Fraser Island. Fraser Island is the largest sand island
in the world, home to over 230 freshwater sand lakes (more than 1/2 the number
in the world), and happens to be just off the coast of Hervey Bay, where I just
happened to be.
With 13 people booked for the trip on that day,
we were split into two groups of 6 & 7 each. I may be a little biased, but
I feel we had the better group in our car. Dutch Jodie, English Jodie, English
Jason, Canadian Over 50 With The Bodies And Attitudes Of Late 20 Year Olds Sharon
and David, and myself (no descriptoin needed).
We all went down to the garage/wherehouse in
town where we were given camping gear [(tents, sleeping bags, a stove, various
pots and pans, and an eskimo cooler (pronounced ESKIE)], a four-wheel drive
Toyota Land Cruiser with luggage and gear storage over-head, and and a speedy
rundown of the do's and don'ts of Fraser Island. Don't drive too fast. Don't
feed the Dingoes. Don't drive in the saltwater. Do speak up if the driver is
making you uncomfortable. Do be careful. Don't miss the ferry back. Don't forget
to put air back in the tires before driving on the paved roads. This is how
to drive so you don't get stuck. This is what to do when you do get stuck. This
is where we suggest you go. Now get to the ferry port so you don' t miss your
boat!
As anxious as I was to drive - and I had made
it clear to the group that if they had no objections, I would be happy to drive
the entire time - I wasn't that keen to drive out of the garage on the other
side of the road and right into traffic directly after the safety/insurance
briefing ("If you total the car - and that is easier to do then you might
think - we will charge each of you double what a new one is worth, and then
take your first born to use in a crash test video, blah blah blah, yadda yadda
yadda.") So, we elected Jason to drive us to the ferry terminal since he
was English and surely familiar to this Driving On The Left Side Of The Road
arrangement. Unfortunately, he was not completely familiar with loose, sloppy
steering in a top heavy vehicle and gently drove us to our destination at about
2/3 the posted speed. But we got there safe and sound with plenty of time to
spare. And that's what's important.
My first turn behind the wheel came when it was
time to back the truck (car, SUV, Ute...) onto the ferry. Let's review; Jason,
the Englishman, is uncomfortable driving this vehicle forwards, so Chris, the
American used to driving on the other side of the vehicle on the other side
of the road, on the other side of the PLANET, gets to BACK this truck onto a
free-floating and drifting BOAT! And not to toot my own horn, but I did a pretty
fine job of it. I won't say I maybe managed it better than even some of the
locals, but...well, TOOT!
Once on Fraser Island, we stopped briefly to
wash the salt water spray from the car and drop the tire pressure down to about
20 PSI. This makes the tires wider for better traction in the sand, but also
serves to make our already topheavy vehicle even more unstable.
I started out gingerly at first, driving up the
sandy hill with luggage essentially on the roof, four passengers in the back,
and a big-ass grin on my face. There are two kinds of road on Fraser Island,
the trails through the forrest, and the "highway" (the beach at low
tide). Whenever I drove down the highway on the beach, a little voice in the
back of my head told me that I was doing something wrong. Because almost every
beach I've ever been to has a strictly no-vehicles policy. But here, that's
just the road. I was like a little kid, bouncing through the washouts and tearing
along the hardpack just above the water line. I don't think that grin ever left
my face the whole time I was behind the wheel.
By the time we arrived at our first destination
of Lake McKenzie, I was fairly certain this was a very capable ute, and Christened
her "Sheila," the Aussie slang for girl. Sheila simply rolled gently
along the one-track sandy roads, like a small boat slowly cruising through the
harbour trying not to make a wake. Whenever the driver or front seat passenger
noticed a divit or more jolting than usual bump in the road, we would yell out
"BUMP!" to the four passengers in the back so that they could perhaps
have a few milli-seconds of warning before being tossed around like kernels
in a popcorn kettle. Sometimes we were too late, and the "BUMP!" would
come just after the tooth-loosening jolt. At first that got a laugh.
Lake McKenzie is a beautiful freshwater lake
lapping up against a white silica-sand beach which slopes gently out for about
20 meters and then drops to unseen depths, making the crystal clear lakewater
appear black and ominous. I swam out about 1/4 of the way across to pose for
a photo, and then noticed that English Jodie had swum out to join me. We swam
on a bit further, and then realized that we were suddenly nearly halfway across,
and only had enough energy to swim one more half. Naturally, we continued on.
The far shore turned out to be one of those destinations that never seem to
get any closer, no matter how far you think you've swum. And WHERE did that
current come from?! We were on a LAKE! We finally made it across, but I collapsed
on the beach until I had caught my breath while Jodie non-chalantly informed
me that she used to swim for her university team, and is now a PE teacher. No
wonder she was standing over me ready to swim back across again. I convinced
her that it would be safer if we walked around the side of the lake back to
where we had started from on the other side.
Our next stop wsa Central Station. A tropical
rainforrest boardwalk in the middle of all sand island. For while the floor
of the island is sand, right down to it's snady core, it is heavily forrested
and thick with trees. The boardwalk meandered along through these trees as it
followed a clear stream snaking through through palm trees, hanging vines, and
tall grand trees of the forresty/jungle type.
The Dingoes on Fraser Island are becoming an
increasing problem. They look like poor hungry puppy dogs, when in fact they
are wild animals, like a coyote or a wolf, or...or...an Elephant. The problem
is that they're no longer afraid of humans, and thus creep into the camps late
at night and eat all the food that's not secured in a vehicle, and kidnap any
unattended babies, and stuff like that. The solution the Rangers have come up
with is to tell you (should you see one) to yell "DINGO!" and throw
a heavy stick or a rock at them. The hope is that they will begin to associate
humans and "DINGO!" with pain and decide to stay away. It was made
clear to us that this method woul dhave no affect if you didn't actually inflict
pain on the dingo. So, if you scream out "DINGO!" and throw a stick
that flies three feet over its head, they won't learn a thing.
We camped on the beach that night with a rise
of small sand dunes seperating our camp from the main highway/beach. We noticed
a few dingoes trotting past our camp just beyond the light of our campfire,
but the only thing to visit us that night was a Huntsman spider. We were all
sitting around letting our dinner digest when it slowly crawled over the top
of our tarpaulin rain guard hanging over the tents and began its slow journey
down towards our feet. In a flash, we all had our cameras out and were surrounding
the poor thing taking photos and gawking at it shamelessly, thinking it was
the coolest thing ever. But gradually, we lost interest and went back to our
previous positions of dinner digestion and beer. Or possibly after dinner Scotch
by that time. A few minutes later, I noticed that no one was tracking the spider
anymore (which, by the way, is about the size and shape of a Tarantula, and
almost as fuzzy). We all quickly scanned the area but there was no sign of it
anywhere. So we assumed it must have gotten camera shy and gone back from whence
he had come. It wasn't until the next night that we learned that one of their
defining characteristics is that they jump. They jump a great distance. Probably
better we didn't know this at the time, or we may not have slept as well as
we did.
"Who's driving?" I asked, with the
keys in my hand. "ME? OK, if you insist." (BUMP!) The next day promised
more of the same, with our first stop being Eli Creek (dubbed Hangover Creek
but past campers). A cool, refreshing freshwater stream that ran down from the
forrest and into the ocean. Water so clear that if you didn't look closely at
the shallow areas, you could easily mistake it for a dry riverbed. After an
hour or so, we moved up the coast to the local shipwreck on the beach (there
seem to be quite a few shipwrecks up and down the coast of Queensland), and
then, farther up the beach/highway to a spot called Indian Head, which as far
as I could tell, was the only rocky point on the island. We hiked up to the
lookout to have a look...down, and were treated to a visit from a few turtles
in the midst of their mating season, a ray of some kind, a small school of dolphins
in the distance, and off on the horizon, a few whales swimming past. It was
as if a select group of sealife got together and said "OK guys, they're
here. It's time!" And then came by to say hello to us before going on about
their business.
At the "Champagne Pools" (tidal pools
that resemble Champagne when the waves flow over the top) I introduced the group
to Peanut Butter and Nutella sandwiches for lunch. In their experience, PB was
only a spread, to be used on toast for breakfast, or on its own between bread
for lunch. This concept of PB and...anything was foreign to them. They kept
offering me the jar of peanut butter for breakfast (since I was the one who
bought it), and I kept trying to explain to them that is was clearly a lunching
item and not something that one could dive right into first thing in the morning.
But I got them to enjoy their PB&N sandwiches at lunchtime, and we all had
a short nap before on the beach before heading off through the sandy trails
(BUMP!) which wound through the sandy forrest on the giant sand dune island
to our campsite on the beach where our group of 6 and the other group of 7,
along with the third group of 2 spent the evening sharing stories of travel
and adventure over a few beers, a few boxes of wine (no glass bottles reccomended
in the bumpy utes), and Dave's bottle of Scotch (he kept it well wrapped in
about 3 towels to prevent breakage) until the evening faded and the night seemed
to get shorter and shorter.
On our final day on Fraser Island, our first
stop was Lake Waby. Another freshwater lake (this one inhabited by catfish),
but this time with a thick forrest on one side, and steep sand dunes on the
other. Jason and I spent the majority of our time running up the dunes and throwing
ourselves down them, trying to stay on our feet running faster and faster, until
we ended up rolling head over heels into the water below like a couple of kids.
Which I will always be. Just a big kid. Then we found a steeper dune around
the corner and did the same thing all over again. Like a couple of older kids.
Then Dave and I took a treck across the backside
of the bigger dune to its highest peak far in the distance to pose for a photo.
Just like that one in Morocco, I thought. But this time, I didn't write my name
in the sand.
One more stop at Lake McKenzie because it really
is the best spot on the island (and we didn't feel we had enough time there
the first day), and we left for the ferry port. With a two hour window, I got
us there in 25 minutes. Alive. And I only went the wrong way around the roundabout
one time. And I only did that because there were no other cars around to follow.
And no one would have noticed if English Jodie hadn't spoken up. In spite of
this, the group nominated me to back the car OFF the ferry this time and drive
us through town and back to the garage (soliciting only one honk from an angry
motorist when I apparently cut him off at another roundabout) where we unloaded
our camping gear, and I drove us back to the hostel where we had a pizza party
and went to bed early. My final thought of the day was that the rest of Australia
has a lot to live up to after the past three day.
"Bless not only the road, but the bumps on the road. They are all part
of the higher journey."
--Julia Cameron
Props to my Peeps, and Peace on the Mothership,
Chris Dwan